


Fuels the Heart

by DoreyG



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: AU, Anonymous Sex, Disheveled, First Time, Hotel Sex, Kissing, M/M, Porn Battle, Porn Battle XV, Set beginning of first book, post sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If, <i>if</i>, he wasn't very sure that he'd just come very hard possibly multiple times-</p><p>...But, unfortunately, he is very sure. And his mind is currently too fuzzy, too full of currents and sighs and lingering prickles of pleasure oh <i>nnnngh</i>, to allow anything but another whooped in breath and stunned, "<i>Wow</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuels the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV and the prompt "disheveled". An AU of the beginning of the first book, most specifically their first meeting.

" _Whoa_."

The man above him stirs a little, gives a wry chuckle and flops off. Skin so pale that it stands out even against the hopeful efforts of the hotel sheets that they narrowly managed to find, obvious muscles rippling lazily as he gives a long stretch and lowers himself catlike to the bed. If, _if_ , he wasn't very sure that he'd just come very hard possibly multiple times-

...But, unfortunately, he is very sure. And his mind is currently too fuzzy, too full of currents and sighs and lingering prickles of pleasure oh _nnnngh_ , to allow anything but another whooped in breath and stunned, " _Wow_."

"I take it that you enjoyed yourself?" The man asks, with his perfect RP accent curling over and around and _in_ every word and making his brain stir in yet another feeble effort to get back to full arousal. Down boy, _down_.

"That," or, y'know, middle. Hovering vaguely between two extremes. Not moving very much in between ecstatic sighs and half-hearted attempts to reboot. That works too, that works fine - that, at current moment, works possibly the best way that anything had ever worked, "was _amazing_."

"Thank you."

"No, seriously, _that_ -" ever. And he had seen many working things, had even had bit parts in them due to various accidents and possible flailing. It worked so well, in fact, that there’s no option but to prop himself up on one wobbly elbow and stick his finger vaguely in the direction of his handsome mystery man's chest, "was the best sex that I've ever had. Ever. And I've had fumbles, I've had bumbles, I've had several years in the police academy and some people have _backgrounds_ there."

His handsome mystery man's chest that is rumbling with a laugh. Great, like he couldn't get more attractive - good looking, nice voiced, _amazing_ at sex and willing to laugh at his wild over-exaggerations as opposed to staring and making confused noises. He's gone from a cop procedural to a ghost story to an epic romance in the course of less than a week, never say that he doesn't move fast, "do they?"

"Presumably," he says, before he can stop himself in the tide of euphoria. And then grins, shakes his head, snorts a laugh and flops heavily and happily back to the bed, "but the point still stands. You are _amazing_."

"I do try," there's a long pause, and then a soft chuckle and a slow movement - fingers are suddenly skirting up his side and he doesn't even mind, only closes his eyes and lets out a contented sigh, "especially for such a _talented_ partner."

"Thanks," he cracks his only briefly closed eyes open at that, he could never stay quite still for long. Yet another tally to add to handsome mystery man's lot - he seemed to actively _enjoy_ the fidgeting about half an hour ago, when naked skin was on naked skin and breathing was increasingly difficult, "but I didn't fall from some mysterious hot and charming and _oh my god your hands_ heaven like you."

That gets him another laugh, and... He's perfect, actively perfect. They met by a church, the laws are very quickly changing. Surely they can get married in a reasonably short amount of time? "I didn't fall from some-"

"Mysterious hot and charming and _oh my god your hands_ -"

"-Heaven."

" _Really_?" He props himself up, gets halfway to pointing and then just gives up and settles for a dropped kiss to mystery man's sweat-shimmering collarbone instead, "I'm gonna need proof."

"You have proof," ah, and _that_ causes his voice to lower into an entirely pleasing territory and his grip to tighten to a _more_ than entirely pleasing strength. Useful information to keep in mind, now that he actually has a brain and their wedding is coming up, "you saw me walking towards you. Quite clearly. In an area with witnesses."

"Ah," he says stubbornly, laying another kiss and grinning at the further response (a shudder, more tightening, oh _yeah_ ) it produces"but I'm going to need more proof than that. Who's to say that you didn't drop down from that heaven, walk into my line of sight and take things from there?"

"You- _Ah_!" The man shudders again, gives an involuntary groan, unfortunately removes that large and warm and _very_ firm in an entirely pleasing way hand from where it was pinching at his hip to grab his head and move it quite insistently away "...Have a very inquiring mind for one so relatively young."

"Well," he sniffs, ignoring the 'relatively young' part for now (because, okay, that might be something they need to work on a little after the wedding) in favour of repressing a pout that he _knows_ would be ridiculous even in his current Mystery Man-addled state, "I'm a policeman. It tends to come with the territory."

...There's a long pause.

"...Mystery man?"

"A policeman," mystery man repeats, in a way that is slightly stunned and most definitely no longer sexy. There's a certain drawing away, a certain mutual puzzlement in the air that tends to kill the mood even quicker than a sudden police phone box bursting through the wall and depositing a suddener alien out of it, "and... I am aware that this may sound a little belated, but what is your name?"

"Er," he draws back, because never say that he doesn't occasionally listen to his senses. Watches his mystery man with some confusion, watches the wall with some confusion (because you can never be too careful), watches _himself_ with some confusion because he's pretty sure that there's something bigger going on here and his mind is just _waiting_ to gather the shape of it and work out how truly fucked he is, "you first, if you don't- you first."

"Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale."

Ah.

...Truly and utterly fucked, then, "Constable Peter Grant."

Even mystery- _Nightingale's_ face told the story. Not in words, as such - but in the slight expression of dread, and worry, and vague _something_ hovering around the eyes that he's pretty sure that he'll have loads of time to analyze while buried under an extra large chunk of paperwork, "and, ahem, why were you hanging around that particular area at night, Mr- constable Grant?"

He stares at Nightingale.

...He stares at the wall again.

He weighs up all the options...

Ah well, he's fucked already. He draws himself up, puts on his most professional expression, resists the urge to nod to himself… And goes straight for the truth, "I was ghost hunting."

And things go rather fast from there.


End file.
